Introduction: With Love, From the End of the World

“i don't pay attention to the

world ending.

it has ended for me

many times

and began again in the morning.” – Nayyirah Waheed, Salt

As I write these words, the world is preparing to enter the year 2019, and it has become something of a truism among my community of queer people of colour that the end of the world is nigh. A wave of right-wing and openly fascist governments have been elected to power across the world. Economic inequality grows ever wider while wealth and power are increasingly concentrated in the hands of a brazenly corrupt few. Climate change and mass extinction are ravaging the earth but going largely unacknowledged by those with the political power to do anything about it.

As for those communities of queer people, racialized people, disabled people, social justice activists, marginalized people taking back their power? The communities that raised me to believe in the possibility of a Revolution that would change and save the world? Sometimes it seems like the most painful cuts of all come from within my community: Call out culture. Lateral violence. Puritanical politics. Intimate partner abuse. Public shaming. We know so much about trauma but so little about how to heal it. What would “community” know about saving us from the apocalypse?

In 2016, I turned twenty-five years old and published my first novel, which was quickly followed by a poetry collection and a children’s book, all to relative success. I became “queer famous” that year. This was also the year that broke my heart, which has kept right on breaking ever since. This was the year that Trump was elected, that millions of people were displaced in the Syrian refugee crisis, and that 49 people – most of them queer and brown – were shot to death in a nightclub in Orlando. In the intervening years, only more atrocities and disasters have followed.

My twenty-fifth year of life was also the year that I experienced several devastating personal crises which resulted in the loss of some dear friends and chosen family members, as well as psychological trauma from which I have never recovered. For all its edgy pretentions, social justice culture had not prepared me for the havoc that abuse, mental illness, and the immense pressure of living as a publicly known trans woman of colour in the social media era could wreak upon my soul.

Not only was I in pain, but my pain was publicly known, scrutinized, gossiped over. People, mostly queer and racialized people, that I didn’t know sent me emails and Facebook messages that were thousands of words long, asking for intimacy and attention and occasionally threatening me when I didn’t acquiesce. Journalists asked me for interviews about my private life – my sex life, my family, my mental health, no topic seemed to be off limits. I was stalked, in real life and online. I became terrified and paranoid. I stopped trusting people and this thing we call “community.” I stopped trusting myself.

All around me, the people I loved were also in crisis – psychological, financial, medical, interpersonal. When you live in a community of queers, anarchists, and activists, crisis is the baseline and stability an outlier. Among trans women, a life expectancy of 35 is the norm.

I lost my faith in community. I lost hope – in social justice, in revolution, in the world.

When we lose faith in the things that matter, it is easy, I think, to turn to anger. Anger helps us survive when survival seem impossible. I have been very angry throughout my life, and I still am, in some ways. I need to be, to live. Yet anger, and its siblings rage and vengeance, have also been poisonous influences in my communities. I’ve seen people do awful things to one another in the name of anger and revenge, and it never seems to help anyone in the end.

So in the midst of despair, I have come to believe that love – the feeling of love, the politics of love, the ethics and ideology and embodiment of love – is the only good option in this time of the apocalypse. What else do we have? I mean love that is kind, but that is also honest, love that is courageous and relentless and willing to break the rules and smash the system, love that cares about people more than ideas, that prizes each and every one of us and essential and indispensable. I mean a love that is compassionate and accountable. I mean the love that confirms and re-affirms us complex and fallible yet loveable anyway, the love that affirms us as human.

I want to live in love and believe in love. If I have to die, I want to die in love. This whole world might be coming to its end, or it might just be in the midst of an enormous and terrifying change that leads to something better, but either way, I want to go through it in love with the people I love.

So this book is about love, which is a sentence I never thought I’d write before. This is a book that I never thought I could write. It isn’t easy to believe in love, not after so many people and things I held so dear have hurt me or been taken from me. But then, I too have hurt people and taken things from people. I have made mistakes and I have done worse than mistakes. I still want to be believed in.

So this is love. This is a book about revolutionary love. It may be hard to believe in. It will be harder to live. I hope we choose it anyway.

In love that never dies,

Kai Cheng Thom, January 2019

i hope we choose love: notes on the application of justice

“You have the right to tell your story […] You do not have the right to traumatize abusive people, to attack them publicly, or to sabotage anyone else’s health. The behaviors of abuse are also survival based, learned behaviors rooted in some pain. If you can look through the lens of compassion, you will find hurt and trauma there. If you are the abused party, healing that hurt is not your responsibility, and exacerbating that pain is not your justified right” — EMERGENT STRATEGY, adrienne maree brown

i’m not a big believer in justice. that extends to the notions of accountability, restorative justice, transformative justice, and most of the related terms that have taken hold in social justice culture — though i do very strongly believe in integrity, honesty, and personal honour (while “integrity” is a word that one hears used fairly frequently in social justice circles, honesty and honour as i know them are values that come to me through my Chinese family and upbringing. as an aside, “honour” is not something you hear very much at all about in social justice, and i feel its distinct lack as an influence in activist conduct.)

i used to be much more of a believer in justice. i had drunk the Kool-Aid on that, though i wasn’t ever really clear on exactly what justice meant. rather ironically, i think a lot of people who are involved in social justice “activism” — scare quotes used because activism means a lot of different things to different people — aren’t too clear on a working definition of justice. there is a subset of folks, of course, who have thought about the definition of justice a lot, but my sense is there is great disagreement and confusion among them. and why not? justice is a pretty high-falutin’ philosophical concept.

over the years of my adolescence and early adulthood, i gave a great deal of myself to the idea of justice: time, energy, dignity, health. i made huge personal sacrifices to try and live up to the leftist ideals of justice, and particularly accountability — which in the circles i ran in had to do a lot with using the right political language (which always changes) and doing all the right political things all the time, and then admitting in no uncertain terms that you were guilty and “problematic” when called out for infractions. there’s actually a fair amount of good learning in that ideology — it teaches humility and listening to the voices of people in pain, which is pretty much always good in my book.

unfortunately, the enactment of “justice” in radical leftism also played out in my life as a total invalidation of my boundaries (and i am not great at boundaries in the first place). for a time, i became quite valorized in my local community as a “good” upholder of social justice because I was very good at using the right language and doing the right things, and i tended to apologize unreservedly and perfectly when i “fucked up.” i now recognize this as a skill borne of trauma: the ability to ceaselessly and accurately scan the people in one’s environment for a sense of what will please them and to enact it, no matter the cost to one’s long term health. this skill is a brilliant short-term survival strategy, as most trauma strategies are, designed to negotiate the unpredictability and cruelty of punishment — and unfortunately, much of social justice is deeply embedded in a punishment narrative.

***

“Punishment is not something that happens to bad people. It happens to those who cannot stop it from happening. It is laundered pain, not a balancing of scales.” — “Hot Allostatic Load,” Porpentine Charity Heartscape

i’m not a believer in justice because i have never gotten it. i really am not certain that it would be good for me if i did. i gave so much of myself trying to create justice for others, and it eventually rendered me traumatized and deeply disabled. i’m saying that as a literal statement of fact, not as a metaphor or to be melodramatic: i am now sick. i can’t do things i used to be able to do without severe physical or psychological pain.

many times in social justice land, i was quite seriously taken advantage of and badly treated by white women in positions of power over me. this was done in public, when we surrounded by so-called activists. sometimes bystanders express sympathy me in private, but they never protected me or pushed back. i am of course angry about this, but i don’t mean to say it judgement. i have done this exact thing myself, many times: witnessed exploitation or violence and then tried to be supportive without actually taking a stand. it has to do fear — of punishment, of losing relationships and social status.

i have seen many white women call for justice in situations of personal conflict, violence, and abuse. i have seen others do it as well, but it tends to be white women who get the most attention, because white women are assumed to be inherently innocent. the ideological “innocence” i speak of hear refers not only to the literal “not guilty of wrongdoing,” it also encompasses a sense of “purity” or “virtue” that makes it blasphemous or deeply evil to be accused of harming a white woman. this, of course, is a historical legacy of the instrumentalization of white womanhood as a justification for violence against people of colour.

interestingly, i have also seen many people who are not white women, attempt to claim the same kind of “innocence” in their own calls for justice — which entails first that the “innocent” person is seen as free of all and any responsibility for the situation and second that the “guilty” party is then rendered available for punishment. the logic then follows: if someone has done something bad, then it is okay to be aggressive or even violent toward them.

we like punishment in social justice land (lots people, in many societies and subcultures, like punishment). of course we do. it feels good to see someone who has hurt you receive a painful consequence for their actions, and we get that feeling by proxy when we see someone who has hurt someone else get punished. i don’t think that’s wrong in and of itself. i have lots of revenge fantasies, and they are very, very comforting to me at certain times. the problem is the enactment of punishment and revenge (and no, i don’t really see a meaningful distinction between punishment and revenge, though that is of course up for debate): as we know, pain and violence tend to replicate themselves, like a virus. punishment does not end violence; on the contrary, it breeds it.

we like to think of our punishments as humane; that is, we like to think of them as not-punishment. punishment feels good in the moment, but it also makes us feel guilty. leftism in particular does not like to see itself as a perpetrator of cycles of violence because we claim to abhor violence. one notices, though, that the prison-industrial complex and legal criminal justice system also make claims to the moral sanctity of their use of punishments.

on the left, there is a nominal preference for “self-crit” and “accountability” rather than outright punishment, which usually means that the person who is understood to be guilty of an offense must immediately (immediately!) denounce themselves, often publicly, and then perhaps engage in some sort of reparative labour. this in itself has the potential to be positively transformative, but requires great skill to facilitate successfully. we cannot be forced into immediate personal and spiritual growth — we must come by it willingly, or else we only end up disappointed at best and retraumatized at worst. this takes time, resources, and compassion on all sides. it takes compromise and is not immediately gratifying (nor even gratifying in the medium term, frankly).

in social justice culture, accountability is enforced by public shaming and shunning, which often does not stop and continues to impact the person’s social standing even long after the act of accountability/reparation is done. collective measures for assessing the effectiveness of accountability processes and the degree of enforcement necessary are not in common usage; and indeed, some people in social justice communities seem to prefer an endless bombardment of online call-outs to the resolution of conflict. the human dignity of someone who has done something “problematic” becomes deprioritized at best and outright trampled at worst.

we have all seen the dogpile of social media — seen people verbally, relentlessly attacked for making problematic statements despite good intentions, or even for expressing legitimate differences of opinion. the movement seeks uniformity because uniformity and purity feel safe. this, too, is the language of trauma. i have also seen people doxed and stalked both online and in person. i have been stalked, by someone i had never met or spoken to, because they perceived me to be “abusing” them by not responding a facebook friend request. i have seen my friends spread rumours about others in community, advocating for shunning and ostracization over ideological disagreements. on rare occasions, i have seen activists encourage the physical beating of abusive people in community.

as a whole, we have a tendency to escalate rather than de-escalate. in our (rightful) desire to ensure that harm is not minimized or ignored, we use inflammatory language, binary concepts of right and wrong, and oversimplified narratives that more often than not increase tension and heighten rage and shame. we do not ask the questions that are central to transformative justice: why has harm occurred? who is responsible, beyond the individual perpetrator — as in, how is community implicated? how can this harm be prevented in future?

there is a distinction between punishment, justice, and healing. punishment is a gratifying process of enacting revenge that also perpetuates cycles of violence. justice is a slow process of naming and transforming violence into growth and repair that is also frustrating and elusive — and it rarely ends in good feelings. healing is the process of restoration of those who have been hurt; and while justice can aid this process, my own experience is that healing is an individual journey that is almost entirely separate from those who have caused me harm. no apology, or amount of money or punishment can give me back the person i was, the body and spirit i possessed, before i was violated. only i can do that.

***

“People who perpetrate violence are not the authors of it; they are the instruments of it. They are solely responsible for the violence they inflict on others. We are all responsible for the violence in our culture.” — Michael White

i do not have much faith in justice, but i have no choice but to believe in it. the other option is nihilism — total lack of faith in humanity — which i refuse. i think we must refuse nihilism because that way lies fascism. i think we must refuse despair and embrace healing, slow and imperfect though it may be. i am trying to embrace my own healing. i am trying to embrace my own painful, wounded life. as adrienne maree brown suggests, i am trying to embrace growth and constant transformation, like a flower growing in the poisonous radiation.

i am trying to let wisdom emerge from my traumatized body.

so if we must do the work of justice, these are some suggestions that i have for that work:

· we must create flexible, working, practical definitions of justice so that we understand what it is that we are doing and what values we share. there may need to be different definitions of justice for different contexts, but i believe that justice is “the naming of harm and the transformation of the people as well as the conditions that perpetuated the harm”

· we must be open to the notion that survivors of harm can also be perpetrators of harm. survival is not a badge of purity, nor a shield from accountability

· we must invest deeply and fervently in the dignity of human life. we must not give in to the urge to do harm, even in justice’s name. we must recognize, name, and transform the instinct to humiliate, harm, and coerce those we see as bad or as wrongdoers. no one is disposable.

· we must accept that we cannot force others to change their thinking or their beliefs. we can, however, set boundaries on violent behavior, and we can enforce those boundaries

· the practice of facilitating justice work demands complex skill and experience, and it requires great integrity. the facilitator of a justice process must operate honestly, transparently, and with an awareness of their own capacity for abuse of the power of their role; as with any position of power, the facilitation of social justice may attract those more interested in that power than in the work itself, or it may present facilitators with the temptation to use it unwisely. there must be guidelines and strategies to moderate the power of facilitators, and to prevent its misuse

· justice may not always be successful at making everyone, or even anyone, feel good. we do not all have to like each other or be friends or share personal space. justice should work toward reducing future harm through de-escalation and toward ensuring that everyone has the basic resources they need to live, heal, and enjoy life — yes! we have the right to enjoy our lives

· everyone has the right to access support while the work of justice is happening. many seasoned practitioners of transformative justice suggest the use of “pods” or small groups of community to create agile networks of support

· the community must accept its own responsibility for producing, condoning, and reproducing violence. we cannot spend years — decades — in community spaces watching people act badly and hurt each other and making excuses for them and then suddenly turn around and act shocked when that violence is named by an individual. we cannot pretend that we had no hand in covering up, minimizing, and even encouraging violence to happen. we cannot have parties where the norm is that everyone is deeply intoxicated and physical, sexual, and verbal boundary-pushing is encouraged and then act as though “abusers” are all sociopathic monsters who have infiltrated our otherwise perfect communities

· we must love ourselves. we must encourage love — love that is radical, love that digs deep. love that asks the hard questions, that is ready to listen to the whole story and keep loving anyway. love for the survivors, love for the perpetrators, love for the survivors who have perpetrated and the perpetrators who have survived. love for the community that has failed us all. we live in poison. the planet is dying. we can choose to consume each other or we can choose love. even in the midst of despair, there is always a choice. i hope we choose love